


Disintegrate

by BigBloodyShip



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bond has anger management issues, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, M/M, Q is quite emotionally manipulative, married!00Q, not a happy Christmas, things will get real angsty up in here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:57:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigBloodyShip/pseuds/BigBloodyShip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s not much James can do but sit there and watch their relationship slowly disintegrate. Q is slipping through his fingers. He can feel it. And the worst part is, he doesn’t want to do anything about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for lovely Josie, who asked for an angsty married!00Q fic with a little bit of Tanner/Q thrown in because of this headcanon we came up with about Tanner and Q being BFFs (because of the scene in Skyfall where Tanner's just hanging out with a beer while Q is laying the trail for Silva). I've not written or posted in months because my life has been super crazy lately, but since I'm super bitter about my work schedule making it so I can't go home for the holidays, I was in the mood to write angst anyway. There's lots of fluffy, happy, and cute Christmas fics floating about so maybe we need an angsty one? Although it's not all that Christmas-y, I hope to get it all posted before then, if I have time!
> 
> I'm super rusty, be warned! This is probably one of the weirder-paced things I've written and I feel like a lot of the stuff is very out of character, but it's fiction, right? Not beta'd, so all mistakes are mine!

When James first meets Q, he doesn’t think for even a minute that this is someone that he will ever love.

Of course, after Vesper, he wasn’t sure if he would ever love again at all. The wound still festers, gaping wide open, a constant reminder that he is doomed to a certain sort of life - he is not destined for happiness, or for peace, or for anything but an ignominious death, be it alone in the quiet of his empty flat or out in the field on some godforsaken spit of land miles away from British soil.

There’s no denying Q’s allure, however. James senses it the minute the boy who will introduce himself as the new quartermaster sits down next to him. He has some otherworldly, imperceptible beauty to him, not quite tangible, something exquisitely delicate yet curiously sharp. He is young and lovely and terribly clever. Just the sort of thing that might tempt James, and exactly what he wants after enduring boring flirtations with the stupid, silly subjects of his one-night stands. He looks fragile, but James can feel immediately that he is in fact quite dangerous - and although he doesn’t know it quite yet, this boy will be his undoing.

Their fingers brush for the briefest moment when Q passes the little radio to him, and James feels a jolt of electricity run down his spine.

He hadn’t felt something like that since the time he first laid eyes on Vesper Lynd.

It is nothing he needs to concern himself with, James tells himself as he watched Q walk away, bemused and intrigued. At most, Q is just another pretty young thing, just one of many that James has encountered before in his life, and he is just a sad old man who is desperate for a shag. That’s all there is to it.

He is convinced this is the plain truth of things, and Q, clever Q with his bright eyes and coy smile, is the last thing on his mind for quite some time.

But then there is Skyfall, and Q jumps to his aid without question - he follows him readily into the unknown, unafraid to take the leap that Bond has asked him to.

Why has Q done this? James can’t stop asking himself. Q has no obligation to risk anything for him. The two of them are virtually strangers, they’ve really only spoken twice. He could have lost his career, his reputation, everything. But he took the leap anyway. And then James begins to wonder if Q had felt it, too - that spark, that intrinsic tug - the peculiar sensation that he had found himself slave to when they first met in front of _The Fighting Temeraire._

James can be idle no longer.

“Why did you do it?” he asks Q when they are alone in Q’s office, “Why did you help me?”

Q doesn’t look up, and keeps typing away at his laptop.

“Because I wanted to,” is all he says, eyes still fixed on the computer screen.

“And why did you want to?”

Q looks up from his laptop, tongue flicking out for a nanosecond to wet his lips as he scrutinises James through his thick-rimmed spectacles. He seems to be carefully contemplating the question, and he hesitates. For a moment James thinks he won’t answer. But he does, after some deliberation.

“I felt like...Like I needed to. Something was telling me it was exactly the right thing to do. I don’t know. It’s silly, really. I don’t know how else to explain it. Anyway, 007, a simple ‘thank you’ would suffice, instead of all of these questions. I’m very busy, you know.”

James responds without thinking.

“Let me thank you with dinner. Tonight. We’ll have whatever you want.”

“Best be careful, 007,” Q says with a snort as his attention begins to shift back to his laptop, “One might think you’re asking me on a date.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” James replies.

Q stops typing.

“Pardon?”

“You heard me, Q.”

Q gives James another long, contemplative look. A slight flush has risen in the young quartermaster’s cheeks, James notes. It’s oddly endearing. Q looks to be at a loss for words, as if he’s unsure if he’s understanding James correctly or not. With dread, James wonders if Q plans to turn him down. The very thought makes his heart drop into his stomach.

But he needn’t have worried.

“All right,” Q finally says, quite shyly, as he fidgets in his seat, “But you’re paying.”

That’s how it begins.

Their first dinner date goes shockingly well. Q is genuinely interested in what James has to say. He isn’t some dumb, vapid, desperate arse-kisser who is dying for a shag. He listens. And he is so terribly clever and witty that he always has a carefully thought-out response for what James tells him ready in moments.

The second date, a few weeks later, also goes smoothly. The third also goes well, as do the fourth, the fifth, and the sixth…

Until the seventh date, and James finds himself wanting so desperately to kiss Q that he feels like he will burst if he doesn’t do anything about it. But the last thing he wants is to scare the young quartermaster away.

After dinner at some upscale Italian restaurant James has already forgotten the name of, he walks Q back to his flat. As they stand in front of the door, with Q fumbling for his keys, James decides it’s now or never. Although he feels silly doing it, he goes ahead anyway and asks, “Would you mind terribly if I kissed you right now?”

“No,” Q murmurs, “No, I don’t think I’d mind at all.”

And James does.

Not more than seven months later, James does something incredibly stupid.

He tells Q that he wants to marry him.

Q is naive enough to say yes.

But James realises he’s the bigger fool out of the two of them. He lets himself forget Vesper. He lets himself forget who and what he is. He lets himself forget that he had once been convinced that there would never be a happy ending for him.

He should never have forgotten, but by God, Q is so beautiful, and James is so tired of being alone.


	2. Part I

James is just about to drift off to sleep one night when Q asks him a rather peculiar question.

“James?” Q says quietly as he curls against James’ chest. One of James’ arms wrap instinctively around him as he presses a sleepy kiss to his quartermaster’s forehead.

“Yes?”

“Do you ever think about...having children?”

James had entertained the idea once upon a time, but has long since abandoned that silly little possibility. Children are for families with a stable home life. They’re not for people like him, who are almost always getting shot at in foreign countries, and now that he thinks of it, they’re not for people like Q, either, who frequently end up going for days on end without even leaving the office. Why Q is bringing this up all of a sudden, he has no idea.

“It hasn’t really crossed my mind,” James admits, and Q is quiet for a moment.

“But would you want any?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because I do,” Q replies a little insistently, untangling himself from James’ arms to sit up, “I didn’t grow up having a proper family. I want to have one, James. With you.”

James didn’t have a proper family for most of his childhood, either. His parents had died when he was very young. But Q already knows that, so he says nothing. Q casts him a worried glance, concerned by his silence.

“James?” Q says, and James can hear the apprehension in his voice. He’s afraid that James isn’t on the same page as he is. And he has a good reason to be. “James, talk to me.”

“Of course I want a family with you, too,” James sighs, knowing he’s about to say something that Q won’t like to hear, “But be reasonable, Q. Do you really think it’s a good idea? I’m not suited for it. Neither are you.”

“Bill has kids,” Q points out. “A boy and a girl.”

James almost rolls his eyes. Perfect, infallible Chief of Staff, Bill Tanner.

“I know he does. But Tanner is different.”

“He said that-”

“I don’t care what Tanner said. I don’t think it’ll work out.”

Q stiffens.

“Are you saying I can’t take care of a child? Because I can. I know I can. I’m...”

“For fuck’s sake, Q,” James snaps, cutting Q off before he can say anything more, “Think about this realistically, with a little bit of common sense. We’re talking about a child here, a human child, not a bloody cat. I’m abroad all the time, and you’re stuck in the office most nights. How on earth are you going to raise a child if you can’t even make it home twice a week? Don’t be so fucking naive.”

Q falls silent.

James can tell he’s disappointed. And hurt by his words. Immediately, he regrets being so harsh.

“Q,” he murmurs, reaching out to touch Q’s arm gently, “Q, I’m sorry. But that’s the way it is. You know I love you, and that I’d do anything for you. But this, a child...it’s out of the question right now. It won’t be fair for anyone.”

“No, don’t apologise,” Q replies, voice quavering the slightest as he pulls his arm away. He won’t look at James, eyes glued instead to his hands like there’s something interesting there, “I know. It was so stupid of me. I didn’t...I shouldn’t have…God, just forget I ever mentioned it.”

James sighs. Why must Q make him feel so guilty about this? As if it's his fault that they're not suited for the task of raising a family? 

“Look, Q,” he says, trying to comfort him, “You’re still so young. You have plenty of time to make it happen. And it won’t be long until I retire. When I do, I’ll have all the time in the world, and then we’ll talk about it again, properly. All right?”

“Who says you’ll make it to retirement?” Q mutters under his breath as he lies back down, facing away from James.

The words sting harder than they should. But he suspects that was Q's intention. 

 

* * *

 

James is sitting at the bar in a French nightclub, sipping a poorly mixed drink with little interest. He’s supposed to be on the lookout for a man who’s supposedly selling arms to the ringleader of some international terrorist group. But that is the least of his concerns at the moment - instead, his attention is fixed on a woman sitting two seats down the bar from him.

She’s pretty, he thinks, and she looks ravishing in that long, backless violet gown, dark hair swept up in an intricate style that must have taken hours to perfect.

His mind wanders for the briefest moment - not to Q, but to Vesper. If he concentrates hard enough, he can still feel her breath on his neck.

(He hasn’t seen Q in nearly three weeks. And it’s been even longer since they’ve last had sex.)

The woman looks up, and notices James staring almost immediately. She gives him a knowing smile, and James nods in response, raising his glass.

She mouths some words at him, no doubt something very provocative, and rises from her seat to slowly make her way towards the exit, looking back over her shoulder at James.

James knows he shouldn’t, but he gets up to follow her.

“007,” says a voice in his ear. It’s not Q’s. Q is occupied with more pressing matters, guiding 002 through a dangerous mission that’s meant to thwart an assassination plot against some foreign minister. “007, are you forgetting the mission objective?”

James plucks out his earpiece and tosses it aside.

By the time he’s done, the man he was supposed to be looking for has already come and gone.

Naturally, M is livid, and demands that James return to headquarters immediately. James knows that he’s in a lot of trouble, but oddly enough, he could care less.

The first thing he has to do when he arrives back in London is to sit through one of M’s lectures. It’s been a while since he’s seen M this angry. He’d be suspended from active duty if MI6 could afford to, but they’re operating at full capacity and need all of their agents ready to go. So James gets away with little more than a figurative slapped wrist, and he’s sent down to Q-Branch to return his equipment.

Q undoubtedly knows what happened. James figures he owes him an apology.

When he walks into Q’s office, the quartermaster is busily examining rows of codes on his computer screen. He doesn’t even look up when James enters.

“Q, I…”

“Don’t speak,” Q says coldly, “This isn't just about you and me. You've also managed to fuck up the mission. I don’t want to hear a word from you. I don’t even want to see your face right now. Just leave your equipment on my desk and get out.”

James knows better than to try to explain himself. He has no excuses. He does as he’s told and places his gun and radio on Q’s desk before leaving without another word.

 

* * *

 

It’s well past midnight when Q gets back to the flat. James is waiting for him. If Q will let him, then he wants to give him a proper apology for his stupidity.

Q doesn’t say anything as he sets down his bag, hangs up his coat, and quietly changes into his pyjamas. It’s as if James is invisible. James watches him fumble with the buttons on his pyjama shirt, too tired to manage the task.

“Let me,” James murmurs, climbing out of bed and crossing the bedroom to where Q is standing. He slips the button into its corresponding hole before gently brushing the hair out of Q’s face, tucking an unruly curl behind his ear. He leans down to kiss Q on the lips, pulling him into his arms. “I’ve missed you, Q. I’ve missed you so much.”

Q doesn’t move. He doesn’t say a word. He just stands there stiffly, looking at the ground.

“I’m sorry,” James murmurs in his ear, “I fucked up. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

When Q finally brings himself to look at James in the face, James is startled to see that there are tears in his eyes.

“What did she have that I don’t?” he whispers, voice trembling.

“She was just a mistake. She meant nothing,” James assures him, “Absolutely nothing.”

“I’m not talking about that woman you fucked in France,” Q replies, “But I’m not stupid. I know why you did it. It’s because somehow, she reminded you of...of her.”

“Who?”

“Vesper Lynd.”

James’ heart turns into ice. He feels like he’s just been slapped in the face. He can’t believe that Q has brought this up. He knows what the sound of her name will do to him. Almost immediately, he is gripped with a terrifying feeling of helplessness. It squeezes his chest so tightly that he forgets how to breathe.

“It’s not like that,” he says as Q pulls away from him. Desperately, he reaches out to grab Q by the arm, “Listen to me, Q. What happened in France had nothing to do with Vesper. It was just a moment of weakness. I had too much to drink, and I was bored, and I was stupid, and...”

“You don’t love me the way you loved her. You never did, and you never will.”

“That’s not true.”

“You don’t have to do this, James,” Q murmurs, “You don’t have to deny it. We both know perfectly well that it’s the truth. I know you can’t ever stop thinking about her. Really, I don’t blame you.” He lets out a shaky sigh. “When...When you fall in love with someone, when you really fall in love...There’s never a moment when they leave your mind, is there? With every breath, every second, every dream, all you think about is them. Even when they’re not with you, even when you’re with someone else, even when they’re gone. Because they never really are gone, are they? I imagine that’s how you felt with her. How you still feel.”

A flash of her smile, her loving touch, her laughter.

“Q…”

“You were there, weren’t you?” Q says coldly. He looks directly at James with a frosty gaze, choosing each poisonous, scornful word with such cruel, calculating purpose. “You watched her dying. And you let it happen.”

The sound of Vesper screaming echoes inside his skull and rings in his ears. Plaster and concrete falling down all around him. Water everywhere. Her eyes wide open in terror. He reaches for her, but her fingers slip from his grasp.

“Yet, you still love her.”

The iron won’t budge. He’s pulling and pulling but he can’t free her. His lungs are about to burst. She feels so lifeless in his arms as he struggles towards the surface. Her hands, her lips, all cold.

James feels sick to his stomach.

“Q, please,” James says, and he’s acutely aware that he is practically begging now. Why is Q doing this to him? He knows full well this is the one thing that will hit him the hardest, and he’s deliberately pulling at those strings. It’s unspeakably cruel of him. “She’s dead. For God’s sake, Q...You’re all I have now. Only you. No-one and nothing else.”

“I wish you really meant that.”

“I do,” James tells him, “I love you, Q, with every bit of me that is left.”

Q laughs mirthlessly.

“Well, that’s not very much at all, is it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if this is all quite out-of-character (who am I kidding, it probably is), but I always imagined that Q would be rather emotionally manipulative. While he might not have the strength to physically hurt Bond, I'll bet he has the brains to use what he knows about Bond's past against him. I feel like there's something quite aloof about him, too. When I started writing this, I didn't want to make it seem like everything wrong with the relationship was Bond's fault, or that outside forces they had no control over were entirely to blame. I suppose that's why I've written Q in this rather strange way.


	3. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like I won't be able to get this all posted before Christmas after all...things have gotten quite busy. The more I re-read what I've written, the less sense it makes and the weirder it seems, so if you've managed to read all the way through the first two parts and are still here, I'm sorry for the weird-ness! Also, just a warning, but there's a part in this chapter that I felt a bit uncomfortable writing, so it sounds very awkward. You'll probably know exactly what I mean when you get there. Anyway, thanks again to everyone who's been reading. Happy Christmas!

James knows he shouldn’t be here, but he finds himself alone at a bar a few days before Christmas anyway, staring listlessly into his vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred, just the way he likes it. Yet, when the liquid meets his lips, it tastes like ash.

He knows that Q is waiting for him elsewhere in London. It’s the night of the dreaded office Christmas party, an event that James always makes a point to make himself absent from. This year, he had promised Q that he would accompany him. He glances at the clock. He’s already two hours late.

Save himself and the barkeep, the room is practically empty. A jaunty Christmas tune is playing on the radio, and the Christmas decorations certainly are festive and cheery, but they has no effect on James’ mood. He feels callous and tired. Vaguely, he wonders if Q is dreadfully disappointed in him. The answer goes without saying, of course.

Q is always disappointed in him nowadays, it seems. Nothing he says or does is ever good enough. He’s long since given up trying. What has happened to them? The days when he thought he could give Q anything in the world are long gone. They’re barely holding on by the skin of their teeth now. There’s not much James can do but sit there and watch their relationship slowly disintegrate. Q is slipping through his fingers. He can feel it. And the worst part is, he doesn’t want to do anything about it.

James wishes the barkeep a happy Christmas before shuffling out of the bar and to his car. It’s snowing, but he doesn’t feel cold. He doesn’t feel anything at all. He slides into the driver’s seat and shuts the door behind him, fumbling for his keys.

He hesitates for a moment after he’s started the ignition. For a moment, he allows himself the briefest fantasy. What if he just drove away right now? Away from London, away from Q, away from everything. Disappear forever. Maybe to Venice, where he and Vesper had last been together. Lose himself in drink and one-night stands. He doubts Q would even come looking for him. Truth be told, he often finds himself wondering who is going to walk away from this first - himself, or Q?

Angrily, James shakes his head to dispel the thoughts. He’s disgusted with himself for even thinking of them. Q is all he has now. This job, this ridiculous secret agent lifestyle - if it weren’t for Q, he’d have broken down long ago. And this is how he repays him? By fantasising about leaving him? Q is often needy, yes, and critical, too. But Q is his and he is Q’s. It’s the only thing still holding him together. James knows that regardless of their problems - as numerous as they may be - deep down inside, he is still the same man who loves Q so fervently that he’d die for him if it was necessary.

By the time James arrives at the office for the party, things have already begun winding down. He spots Q standing by himself, dressed in a festive Christmas jumper with a blank expression on his face. It’s quite a pitiful sight, and James feels a little guilt throbbing dully in his chest.

“Q,” he says, crossing the room towards his quartermaster. At the sound of his voice, Q jerks as if he’s been electrocuted. His eyes snap up to meet James’, and James falters when he sees the utter contempt behind those big spectacles.

“You’re late,” Q points out, “Three hours late.”

“I know,” James mutters, “I’m sorry, There was a lot of traffic. You know how London can be.” He leans down and tries to kiss him, but Q pushes him away angrily.

“Save the bullshit,” he snaps petulantly, “You promised me you’d come.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“After I’ve waited three hours, yes, I suppose you are.”

“I said I was sorry. It’s only a bloody party, isn’t it?”

“That’s not the point,” Q hisses, “Do you know how much you’ve humiliated me? Doubtlessly, everyone in this room was thinking - _There he is, the poor, silly quartermaster, waiting for 007 again. Always waiting._ I can only imagine how pathetic I must look to them.”

“If you only wanted me here to play house in front of your subordinates, then I don’t see why I should have bothered coming at all.”

“You’re such a child,” Q huffs in annoyance, “Such a bloody child. You promised me, but I suppose you’ve got lots of better things to do. Must be hard to keep all your obligations straight when you’re busy drinking yourself stupid and shagging anything that moves. I’m surprised you’ve even managed that, with your head stuck so far up your own arse all the bloody time. Or rather, Vesper Lynd’s arse.”

Red flashes in James’ vision, and he grabs Q by the wrist. It’s enough to startle him into silence.

“Don’t ever talk to me like that again,” he grinds out, “Ever. If you say her name one more time, you little bitch-”

“Oh, dear,” Q scoffs, unaffected by James’ unfinished threat, “Am I embarrassing you? I’m sorry. I forgot that you and her are the only people that matter. Never mind that I’m the one who’s been waiting for three hours.”

How can Q be so petty? How can he talk about Vesper with such audacity when he’d never even met her before? James is suddenly struck by an overwhelming urge to hit him. He wants to know what it would be like to hurt him, to really hurt him, to batter him until he bleeds. The desire is dizzying and it frightens him.

“Is something the matter?”

James is snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of Tanner’s voice. Hastily, he lets go of Q’s wrist. He doesn’t notice that he’s bruised him.

“No, of course not,” Q says with an artificial smile, “We’re fine. Aren’t we, James?”

James forces himself to nod. Vaguely, he wonders if Q is frightened that James will hurt him if he tells Tanner what’s really going on.

Tanner stares at them for a moment, a concerned look on his face. James can tell that he doesn’t buy it.

“Are you sure you’re quite all right?”

“Yes. We were just...We were just getting ready to leave,” Q tells him, “We’ll be off now.” He gives Tanner a brief kiss on the cheek. “Happy Christmas, Bill.”

“Take care of yourselves,” Tanner says, and James doesn’t miss the rather suspicious way that the Chief of Staff is watching him. He has to stop himself from punching him in the face.

Instead, he forces a smile and says, “Naturally. Happy Christmas.”

 

* * *

 

His mission in Kabul goes badly.

Fifteen innocent civilians who are in the wrong place at the wrong time are killed. An entire building goes up in flames. The man James is meant to question throws himself in front of a lorry, rather than be tortured for information.

James returns to England empty-handed.

He stops at a bar on the way back to the flat and downs a glassful of vodka. Woozy with painkillers and alcohol, he really shouldn’t be driving, but he does anyway. He nearly runs over a pedestrian as he makes his way home.

When he stumbles into the flat, the first thing he sees through blurred vision is Q curled up on the couch. He’d been staying up, waiting for him to come home, and had dozed off. The young quartermaster jumps awake at the sound of the door slamming shut, and he looks wildly about for a moment as if he’s forgotten where he is.

“James,” he exclaims, “Christ, James, you look awful. I...I’ll pour you a glass of water.” He gets up and moves towards the kitchen, but James stops him, catching him by the wrist.

“I don’t want that,” James mutters, “I just want you.”

“James, you’re drunk,” Q says sternly, “You need to go to bed.”

“Bed,” James repeats with a chuckle, “I like the sound of that.” He gropes blindly at Q, silencing his protests with a rough, sloppy kiss. Q makes a muffled sound and wriggles in his grasp, trying to push him away, but James overpowers him easily. He wrestles him towards the bedroom and has him trapped against the mattress in seconds.

He tugs clumsily at Q’s pyjamas, kissing him hard before biting at his neck. Q feebly tries to pull away from him, but James won’t let him. He pins him down in place with a laughably small amount of effort.

“James, no,” Q protests as James kicks off his own trousers, “Not tonight. You’re a mess. You shouldn’t be...”

“I need this,” James insists, his words slurring messily, “I need this, Q.”

If he was sober, he’d be humiliated at how selfish and desperate he sounds. Either way, it shuts Q up, and without another word, James fucks him hard into the mattress. He tries to bury his frustration inside Q, and Q lets him.

Q is silent the whole time. He doesn’t cry out or ask James to stop again. James might be drunk, but he knows how rough he’s being. He knows he’s hurting Q. But he can’t stop himself. It’s as if some outside entity has taken control of his body and is spurring him on as he drives mercilessly into the body beneath him. He almost wishes that Q would shout at him, scold him, slap him. Anything. But he just lies there, limp as a doll, and _takes_ it. James is ashamed to admit that hurting Q like this feels _good_. James wants Q to feel the pain that he does whenever he thinks of Vesper, every bit of it.

Then a white-hot wave of electricity washes over his senses. Stars burst in his vision, and then he falls over onto his side. Everything goes dark.

When he wakes up the next morning, he has a pounding headache and can’t quite seem to remember why there is blood on the sheets, or why Q is limping pathetically.

Q doesn’t say anything about it, nor does he give a straight answer when James asks him what happened the previous night. He merely gives James a kiss on the cheek and brings him breakfast in bed.

 

* * *

  
  


It’s Christmas Eve when things really start to go up in smoke.

James is at headquarters, on his way to a brief meeting with M to touch bases on an upcoming mission when he’s stopped by Tanner.

“Bond,” he says, looking nervously over his shoulder as if he’s worried someone might be listening in on them, “I was wondering if I could have a word with you?”

“Of course,” James says, wondering what on earth Tanner could have to say to him that could be so urgent. The look on the Chief of Staff’s face is one of concern, and something tells James that he's not going to enjoy this conversation.

“It’s about Q,” Tanner says in a low voice, “It’s just...He’s not been himself lately. He’s distracted and depressed. I’ve seen bruises on him, Bond, and I don’t mean to be indelicate, but I’m wondering if they have anything to do with you.”

James snorts derisively.

“Why would they have anything to do with me?”

“Q tells me things haven’t been quite right between the two of you.”

James feels a surge of anger flaring up inside his chest. What right does Q have to mouth off about their private affairs to Tanner?

“Who else has he been saying these things to?” James asks.

“Only me,” Tanner replies, “He trusts me.”

It makes sense. Tanner is loyal and has known Q longer than James has. Everyone knows that the quartermaster and Chief of Staff are quite close. Still, the thought of Q confiding in Tanner makes James inexplicably furious.

“Who do you think you are?” James snarls. It’s not Tanner’s fault. He shouldn’t be taking it out on him, but he doesn’t care. He does it anyway. “It has nothing to do with you. Stay out of our business, and stay away from Q.”

Tanner isn’t intimidated. He stands his ground.

“He’s not your possession. You don’t get to treat him like dirt and pretend that nothing’s happened.”

“What’s it to you?” James demands, “Why do you care so much? Are you fucking him? Is that what’s going on?” He knows he’s pulling baseless accusations out of thin air, but he couldn’t care less. He just wants Tanner to shut up and leave him alone.

“Look, Bond,” he says curtly, “Q is like a little brother to me. I don’t care if you’re married to him. If you’ve hurt him…”

“You’ll what? What are you going to do to me, Tanner? Are you threatening me? I could fucking kill you.”

Tanner gives James a long, hard look before shaking his head in disbelief.

“My God. You Double-0s. You all think you can say and do anything you want and get away with it. You think everyone’s too afraid of you to say otherwise. I’m not afraid of you, Bond, but I think Q is. And if he has a reason to be afraid of you, then we have a serious problem.”

“You don’t know anything about it,” James snaps, “Did he only tell you his side of the story? He’s not some poor, defenseless little boy, Tanner. He’s manipulative and conniving and his clever little brain is much darker than you’d think. He is as much of a sinner as I am. I don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate here, or if you’re trying to pick a fight, but if you’ve got something to say, stop beating around the bush and just say it.”

“Frankly, Bond, I don’t think you deserve Q,” Tanner says bluntly.

“What?” James laughs, “And you think you do?”

“That’s not what this is about, and you know it.”

“Then fuck off. Q doesn’t need you to rescue him from me, or whatever the hell it is you’re trying to do. He’s doing a fine enough job of fucking things up between the two of us all on his own.”

“Fine,” Tanner says, and there is a dangerous, cold fury lying underneath his unflappable exterior, “Fine. But I’m telling you, Bond, you’re making a huge mistake.”


	4. Part III

“What the fuck have you been saying to Tanner about us!?” James shouts when he storms into the flat that night. Q is sitting on the couch watching telly, clutching a mug of tea.

“Nothing,” Q says stiffly, “I haven’t said anything.”

“Really? Because that’s not what he told me today.”

Q doesn’t even bother replying. He ignores James and reaches for the remote control, turning the volume of the television up to drown him out. James wishes bitterly that this was not one of those rare nights when Q is not required to stay at the office until the wee hours. Just the sight of the quartermaster makes him livid.

“Q.”

“Not now, James. I’m watching telly.”

“Look at me, Q.”

Silence.

“Look at me.”

Q remains silent, pointedly ignoring him.

“I said, _look at me_ , God damn it!” James roars, fed up with Q’s impertinence. He kicks over the coffee table and shoves the telly onto the floor. It smashes into pieces and goes dead with a loud electrical crackle. Q flinches, but doesn’t move otherwise.

“I’m going to ask you again, Q, and you’re not going to give me any more bullshit. What have you been saying to Tanner?”

Q sets down his tea.

“I haven’t told him anything untruthful, if that’s what you mean.”

“He came to me today and started mouthing off about us, acting like knows everything. If you have a problem, you talk to me about it, not him. I don’t know what you’re playing at, Q, but if you ever speak with him again…”

“And why shouldn’t I?” Q demands, “He’s my friend, and I’ll talk to him if I want to. You have a lot of nerve, ordering me around like that.”

“You’re sucking his cock, aren’t you? I’ll fucking kill him.”

“What the fuck-”

“What do you think you’re doing, messing around with a married man like that?” James snarls, cutting him off mid-sentence. He doesn’t feel like giving Q the chance to defend himself, no matter how unreasonable his own accusations are. “You little shit.”

“You’re insane,” Q spits, “I don’t know where you’re getting this from. Stop being paranoid and pulling bullshit out of your arse. Don’t you dare bring Bill into this.”

“Why not? You seemed keen to pull him into our private business.”

“He _listens_ to me, James. Unlike you, I might add. Look, it’s not a big deal, all right? You know he’s going through a divorce right now, don’t you? He’s been having a rough time and he’s been telling me all about it, so I figured it might make him feel better if he knows he’s not the only one who’s having problems. If that bothers you, then I’m sorry.”

“You’re sleeping with him. Admit it.”

“Fuck you,” Q says angrily as he gets up, his voice positively venomous, “I’m not. You’re bloody ridiculous, and such a hypocrite. I’m not listening to this anymore. I’m going to sleep.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” James snarls, grabbing Q roughly by the shoulder. Q tries to pull away from him, but James grips him harder, He has no intention to let Q brush him off like that.

“Let go,” Q snaps, “You’re hurting me.”

“You tell me right now what the fuck is going on between you and Bill Tanner.”

“It’s nothing!” Q yells, jerking abruptly away from him, “We’re _friends_ , James, and you know it. Stop trying to act like I’m the one who’s fucking up this shit marriage by making things up, because it’s _you_ , and you can tell yourself otherwise if you want, but we both know everything is _your_ fucking fault. You and your obsession with pills and drink and that bloody Vesper Lynd.”

How dare he say her name with such audacity? How dare he claim innocence and act like everything is James’ fault?

“Say that again,” James dares him. Red-hot fury is boiling in veins. It’s dangerously close to spilling over.

“No. You heard me the first time.”

“ _Say it._ ”

“Why?” Q laughs coldly, “Are you going deaf? Well, it does makes sense. You are getting old, after all.”

“Don’t you fucking talk back to me!” James shouts, and then his anger explodes. Every fibre of his body is aflame with pure, unadulterated rage, and he wants nothing more than to wipe that smug smirk off of Q’s lips. He can’t control himself or hold back everything that’s been slowly bubbling to the surface over the past few weeks any longer. Without thinking, and before he even realises what he’s doing, he lashes out and backhands Q across the face.

Q yelps in shock, stumbling back a few paces. He looks up at James with impossibly wide eyes, spectacles askew and a hand pressed to his cheek. James is strangely pleased to see that the young quartermaster looks frightened - they’ve had their fair share of arguments recently, but James has never actually struck him before, until now. Good, James thinks, Let him be scared of me. He has every reason to be.

But the fear is gone in an instant, replaced by a flash of cold fury.

“How dare you!?” Q screams, “How fucking _dare_ you put your hands on me!? What makes you think you have the bloody right!? You don’t get to do this to me, you bastard, you don’t!”

He makes a move to slap James back, but James is faster. He catches Q’s wrist, and Q tries in vain to wrench free from his grip. Both of them know that overpowering him would be child’s play for James, but Q fights him anyway, kicking and struggling and swearing. James grabs a fistful of Q’s dark curls, and Q lets out a wretched wail before sinking his teeth into James’ other arm. It hurts - James will admit that - but he’s had enough. He lets go of Q’s hair, pulls his hand back and hits him in the face again - hard.

The force of the blow is enough to send the quartermaster crashing onto the floor with a cry. Q lies there for a moment, completely motionless, sprawled among the remnants of the smashed television set, too stunned to move or react. James watches him, breathing hard with his fists clenched. Q looks so small and helpless there. For a split second, James wonders if he’s knocked him unconscious. Or maybe he’s somehow even managed to kill him. A blinding panic flares up in his chest.

Slowly, Q sits up, a dazed look on his face. There is a large, ugly bruise on his cheek and blood on his forehead. James watches it trickle down the bridge of his nose, and he feels an overwhelming wave of nausea wash over him as he realises what he has just done.

He has hurt Q. His beautiful, brilliant, clever Q. He wants to vomit.

“Q,” he chokes out, reaching out for his quartermaster, “Q, God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t,” Q says, voice shaking as he pushes James’ hand away, “Don’t touch me.”

“I’m sorry,” James says again desperately, “Please, Q, you know that I love you. You know that I would never hurt you. Never.” He’s made a mistake, a terrible mistake, and he knows he can’t take it back, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

“You are so full of shit,” Q spits out, and James is stunned to see that there are tears welling up in the quartermaster's eyes, “You utter bastard.”

“Let me make it up to you,” he begs, “Give me a chance. I’ll do anything you want.”

“I want you to get out and never come back.”

“You don’t mean that,” James says frantically, “This is our home, Q. I can’t leave you. I don’t want to. Please don’t make me.”

“If you won’t leave, then I will,” Q says coldly, “And if you ever hit me or so much as touch me ever again, I’ll call the fucking police.”

 

* * *

 

It ends after that.

Q packs up his things and leaves the next day. James has no idea where he’s going, and he doesn’t ask.

At MI6, Q is perfectly civil and professional. He carries on guiding James through missions as if nothing has happened. But a rift has opened up between them, and it is impossible to cross.

James is desperate to have Q back. He feels like he will die without him. But Q wants nothing to do with him outside of work and is excellent at avoiding him. James waits patiently for the chance to apologise to Q. He will go down on his knees and beg for mercy if he needs to.

But Q never gives him that chance. And honestly, James can’t blame him. Striking him had been utterly barbaric and he has no excuse.

At first, James is in denial. He fully expects Q to show up back at the flat, and they can carry on like nothing had happened. But Q never comes back, and that makes James furious. Q can’t do this to him. He doesn’t get to act as if James has no say in all of this, after everything they’ve been through and everything James has done for him. He feels abandoned, betrayed, and bewildered - how can he hate someone with such intensity yet still love them so fiercely? He thinks he will go mad if something, doesn’t happen soon.

Nearly a month later, they finally speak outside of a mission.

“I want to divorce you,” Q tells him one night when everyone else has gone home. James is sitting miserably on a bench in the locker room, Q standing before him.

“Can’t we talk about this?”

“No,” Q replies, “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I’ve decided it’s what’s best. The thing is, you’re not what I need anymore, and I certainly can't keep being what you need.”

“Give me another chance, Q. Please. I can change for you.”

“You already lost the right to a second chance,” Q informs him curtly, “I don’t want this to be messier than it needs to, Bond. I’ll get the paperwork arranged. If you don’t agree, or if you refuse, then I’ll call my solicitor.”

“I don’t want you to walk away with nothing,” James says, and he doesn’t miss how Q has addressed him as _Bond_ and not _James_ , “I still want to take care of you. I’ll give you money.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” Q replies, a twinge of annoyance in his voice, “And I don’t want your money. You can keep the flat. I’ve already taken back my belongings. If you have any trouble with the paperwork, then you can speak to my solicitor. He’ll help you.” He hands James a card with a phone number.

James takes the card numbly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders how they ever got to this point - Q completely tired of him, and James with no patience left, unable to control his temper. It feels like only yesterday when he’d been a man so desperately in love, asking for Q’s permission to kiss him. Funny how that feeling comes back when it’s already far too late.

“Q,” he says as the quartermaster turns to leave, “I don’t suppose...you’d let me kiss you again? Just one more time?”

Q pauses in the doorway. Slowly, he turns to look at James.

“You’d best not,” he says quietly. Something in his face tells James that he wishes things could have been different. God knows James does, too. But they’ve already crossed a certain point where there’s no turning around or going back.

“I still love you, you know,” James tells him. He knows it won’t make any difference now, but it’s the truth, and Q deserves at least that. “I always have. Probably always will.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t, but I love you, too, Bond,” Q replies carefully, looking away, “But we would be the end of each other.”

James doesn’t want to admit it, but he knows Q is right. There’s nowhere else for them to go together, and he’d been foolish to ever think there might have been. Even in those earlier days, some part of him had known that this was how it would end. But he’d let himself forget who he was and just how much his past would define his future - after all, he is first and foremost a Double-0. Everything he touches will always turn to ash. James is too damaged, and Q is too proud.

For a moment, he thinks Q might cry. He looks like he can’t decide whether he should flee, or throw himself back into James’ arms. There is such a wretched, lost air about him as Q stares helplessly at him, and it breaks James’ heart. But his quartermaster - his brilliant, beautiful, clever Q - schools his expression into one of passiveness and simply says, “Good night, Bond.”

And then he is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've found this all a bit tricky to write - I didn't want it to be too doom-and-gloom, but I also didn't want to romanticise this type of unhealthy relationship. I know the whole love/hate thing is often made to seem like a noble lovers' struggle in fiction and that's not what I wanted the story to be about. I don't think there's very much that's noble about verbal/physical abuse or emotional manipulation, which is why I've chosen to write rather bluntly and concisely. Some people with high-stress jobs often lash out at their partners in inappropriate ways, which is one way I imagined people like Bond and Q might function in a relationship. 
> 
> To quote lovely reviewer Toby, "I just wanted to let the readers know, if you are stuck in something where your partner acts or treats you like this, you need to get out. If you fear for your own safety or get verbally attacked then it is not a healthy thing to be in. Tell someone, call someone, get away, anything you can do to take yourself from this situation."


End file.
